Read Scars: Book One for Free Online Page B

until the front door rose up in front of
me. I twisted the door knob, pounded on it and screamed. It was all futile. I
knew that. That door was locked tight. I should have headed to the back of the
house; there must have been another door there. But I knew I wouldn’t have a
chance to try it. I slammed my fists into the wood and let out another howl of
rage and desperation, until finally I collapsed against it, resting my head on
my forearms as I cried.
    I
knew he was behind me, waiting and watching. Eventually, I turned to face him.
He leaned casually against the wall.
    “Please
don’t put me in the barn again,” my voice managed to rasp out. I shook my head.
“Please don’t .”
    He
straightened, and made a motion with his head, indicating to the stairs that
led up to my bedroom/cell. I darted up the stairs and headed into the room,
crawling under the blankets, happy to be covered while my heart thumped as the
stairs creaked as he climbed them. I couldn’t stand to look at him. Instead, I
just looked at that awful pattern on the blanket. He grabbed an arm and
fastened it above my head just like last night, then followed suit with the
other one. Before he left, he drew the blanket up to cover me before switching
off the light and bolting the door.
    In
the darkness, unsettling memories came bolting back to me, and fresh tears
erupted. What was I going to do? At least I had more information now, and
reasons why this was happening.
    What
would my mother do? I loved and loathed her equally, but the only thing I
respected about her was her talent. She was a fantastic actress and reader of
people. She could change her personality in an instant to suit whoever she was
going after. She was a master manipulator. No doubt she would try and seduce
this crazy psycho or something similar to get him so charmed that he fell under
her spell.
    But
I wasn’t my mother.

Chapter Eight
    The
next night I refused to read the diary entry. Defiance is difficult when you’re
the only naked one in the room. I dropped the diary to the ground where it
landed face down on the green carpet. I was too scared to look at him, so I
just stared at my feet.
    “No,”
I repeated. “I’m not going to read that.” My voice betrayed me by shaking. “I’m
not going to play your stupid, pointless games.” I hugged myself as he laughed.
    “Oh,
Rachel. I haven’t even begun to play games. I’m in a generous mood though. I’ll
give you another chance. Pick up the book and read the marked page.” His voice
was soft, nearly gentle. As I looked at the book, I thought about how easy it
would be just to pick it up and open it to where the yellow Post-It indicated.
My fingers moved of their own accord, fear driving them in slight twitches to
do what he said.
    But
my bitchy will made a stand.
    I
raised my head to look him firmly in the eye. “No.”
    I
shivered at the coldness I saw in his face, the loathing and hostility spearing
through me. I made to run again but before I got maybe two feet in distance, a
strong hand wrapped around my ankle and pulled. I was momentarily airborne
before landing with a thud against the floor; the firm grip dragged me
backwards with the carpet burning against my breasts. Then the grip was in my
hair and the pain made my eyes water as I was raised up and turned to look at
him.
    We
were both on our knees now, with no give in the hand gripping my hair that
caused a fire-like sensation to dart through my scalp. His other hand reached
up, and I recoiled in fear as much as I could move. But there was no stopping
him. The hand stroked softly down my face in a gesture that could have been
construed as caring in any one else.
    But
I whimpered at his touch as his fingers brushed over my cheekbone and down to
my chin. And there the hand stopped. It gripped, still softly, my chin, forcing
me to look up to meet him in the eyes. I did not like what I saw there.
    “I’ve
been very kind to you so far, Rachel. Far kinder than you